


Late Night Insomnia Pancake Club

by shadowen



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Comfort Food, Cooking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Exactly What It Says on the Tin, Friendship, Gen, Insomnia, Pancakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:56:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 588
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadowen/pseuds/shadowen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arrow-shaped, Tony decides. He’s never made arrow-shaped pancakes. </p><p>He’s never actually shared the pancakes with anyone, either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Late Night Insomnia Pancake Club

**Author's Note:**

> For [airsymphony](http://airsymphony.livejournal.com/), who donated $35 USD to [Unicef](http://www.unicef.org/infobycountry/nepal.html) and requested HC-ish Tony + Clint friendship fic.
> 
> Endless thanks to hoosierbitch, my platonic life partner and very patient beta, who I love and adore.

Tony can’t cook. 

He probably could if he tried, since cooking is just chemistry, but the only thing he ever learned to make is pancakes. When he’s stuck on a problem and can’t sleep, he practices making pancakes in different recipes and shapes. The number and variety is usually correlated to whatever is causing his insomnia and can vary from a stack of cog-shaped buttermilk pancakes to a meticulous reproduction of da Vinci’s _Vitruvian Man_ rendered in gluten-free vegan corn cakes. He always makes more than he can eat, and most usually goes to waste.

Then Clint Barton takes up residence in the tower.

“Are you making a sandwich?”

Barton freezes, knife hovering over a lump of unspread jam. “Uh. Is that okay?”

Tony doesn’t know if Barton is being sarcastic or if he genuinely thinks Tony might throw him out of the kitchen for making a peanut butter sandwich in the middle of the night. Sarcasm is safer, and Tony doesn’t want to think about the implications of sincerity. “No. You’re absolutely not allowed to be hungry. No hungry people in my house.”

Barton gives him a look that Tony can’t quite decipher, then goes back to making his sandwich. Tony figures that’s all he’s going to get and starts pulling out pancake paraphernalia. He’s in the mood for blueberry. Or blackberry. Boysenberry? Something berry. He’s been dreaming about Sokovia.

“Berry preference?” he asks, and Barton stares at him blankly. Tony explains, “For pancakes. What kind of berry do you want?”

Slowly, like he thinks it might be a trick question, Barton answers, “Blueberry?”

“Good choice. Classic.” Tony roots around in the freezer until he finds a bag of frozen blueberries. Whole wheat batter, he thinks. Maybe with a splash of almond extract. Healthy, hearty, and just a little bit sweet.

Barton is still staring at him. “Are you making pancakes?”

Tony tries to give him a rakish grin and probably falls somewhere around a friendly smile. “Is that okay?”

“It’s three in the morning.”

“So? I’m hungry.” He’s not, but it’s a better excuse than the truth, which is that making pancakes keeps him from thinking too much about the corpses of his friends piled in a bloody heap. “Don’t tell me you don’t like pancakes, because honestly, I can tolerate the rest of your myriad faults, but not liking pancakes is just un-American.”

“I like pancakes,” Barton replies, like he’s daring Tony to prove otherwise. “Just don’t know why you’re making them now.”

The mixture in the big plastic bowl is on its way to becoming batter, and the griddle is heating up on the stove. Tony pauses his stirring and says, “Probably for the same reason you’re making a sandwich.”

He can’t see Barton’s face, but he doesn’t need to. The silence is reaction enough. After a moment, he hears Barton move, and a plate appears on the countertop beside him, bearing half of a peanut butter sandwich.

“I can’t cook,” Tony warns. “I only do pancakes. So don’t get your hopes up.” 

“Never do,” Clint says, swinging himself up to sit on the counter. 

Arrow-shaped, Tony decides. He’s never made arrow-shaped pancakes. 

He’s never actually shared the pancakes with anyone, either. 

Stirring with one hand, he picks up the sandwich and takes a bite. Apple jam with crunchy peanut butter. He would have figured Barton for a grape jelly guy.

“Make yourself useful and get out the butter,” he tells Barton, who grumbles something about bossy jerks as he turns to the refrigerator.


End file.
